In his recent book, French war aims against Germany, 1914–1919, David Stevenson comes to the heart of the problem relative to the diplomatic prolongation of World War I. ‘No Government’, he asserts, ‘was willing to jettison its war aims in the interest of a compromise peace, or to place itself at the enemy's mercy while a chance of victory remained’. His work is to be applauded, therefore, for he has given us the first succinct and judicious account of the course of official French war aims from 1916 to 1919, enlarging upon a topic heretofore treated in scholarly articles. Using the wealth of archival documentation now available, and the private papers of numerous participants, Stevenson has made a major and much-needed contribution to our knowledge of the subject by tracing the relationship between official war aims policy, peace diplomacy and the diplomatic impact of allied policy on French war aims from their inception to the Versailles settlement.

Though Mr Gladstone was speaking of the opposition to home rule in the country, rather than in the parliamentary Liberal party alone in the statement quoted above, this has become the rather standard interpretation of the great separation in the Liberal party in 1886. As one modern historian of the Liberal disruption puts it, ‘a striking characteristic of modern British history has been the class alignment of political parties… The Liberal Unionist party (those who seceded on the home rule question) was a half-way house, which entertained for a time much of the wealth and territorial influence which had been Liberal and was to be Conservative.’ One of the most influential historians of late-nineteenth-century Britain puts the issue in broader terms. The origins of Conservative dominance as well as the leakage of the landed and business classes to the Conservative party, Sir Robert Ensor argues, are to be found in the undermining of English and Irish agriculture by the invasion of North American wheat. This produced, in turn, agrarian revolution in Ireland, the rise of violent nationalism in Ireland, the growth of social and political conflict, and, ultimately, the rejection of Irish political demands by the English. Yet another attributes the fall of Gladstone's third ministry to a general revolt against the Liberal party by railway directors and other businessmen who had been alerted to the dangers to property which the government's railway policies implied. This theme has been taken up and many have come to argue that class voting emerged in 1886 when the upper – and middle-class Liberals, taking home rule as an excuse, departed to the Conservatives in a reaction against growing social radicalism.

Historians of United States policy towards Latin America in the first half of the twentieth century have paid remarkably little attention to Washington's dealings with the republic of Panama. The failure to explore this terra incognita is all the more surprising in the light of the fact that those dealings hinged round one of America's vital interests, the Panama Canal, which runs through the heart of the country and has given Panama an importance unique in U.S. diplomacy. Yet much of the detailed history of the relationship remains unknown.

Richard Cobden, John Bright and Joseph Chamberlain were the most famous and influential reform agitators of the Victorian era. Collectively they ensured that much British political development in the period was influenced by ideas associated first with Manchester and then with Birmingham. In this context, Blight's career was particularly important since he was the only one of the trio who had close links with the other two and with both Manchester and Birmingham. Bright's partnership with Cobden in the Anti-Corn-Law League has long been an historical cliché and has been closely studied. Yet Cobden died in 1865 and Bright outlived him for twenty-four years. During that period Bright pursued a political career which often owed little to Cobden's influence. He also became a Liberal cabinet minister on three occasions: an honour declined by Cobden. Moreover Bright developed a close association with the rising radical leader Joseph Chamberlain. Yet their relationship has received scant attention from historians.

There have been any number of biographies of Cecil Rhodes but they are all concerned with his imperialist dreams and dieir realization, paying litde attention to his business career and financial connexions in London. This is surprising in view of J. A. Hobson's identification of finance as ‘the motor-power of Imperialism’ and his reference to the prime role of Rothschilds (Rhodes' financiers) and other Jewish firms. The name of Rothschild is of course mentioned in the biographies, but the merchant bank's contribution is nowhere probed and the student of business history or imperialism is left to draw his own inferences from its characteristically low profile. Perhaps Rothschilds only receive passing mention because their contribution was very modest, an initial priming for a client that needed litde external financial support? Or, following Hobson, conceivably the bankers were the real powers behind Rhodes, ‘the prime determinants of imperial policy’? Recent revelations of some of Rhodes' business deals have not improved his reputation, and it is important to know if his financial backers were in any way responsible for the unsavoury aspects of his business record.

R. A. Butler has been one of the outstanding figures in twentieth-century British politics. After his death The Times described him as ‘the creator of the modern educational system, the key-figure in the revival of post-war Conservatism, arguably the most successful chancellor since the war and un-questionably a Home Secretary of reforming zeal’. His record of achievement was unequalled by his rivals in the contests for the party leadership in 1957 and in 1963, but on both occasions the leadership eluded him. How and why this happened was understandably of the greatest interest to those who reviewed Rab's memoirs, The art of the possible, which were published in 1971. These memoirs won unanimous praise for their literary excellence, but otherwise met with a rather mixed reception. Enoch Powell, one of Rab's supporters in 1963, described them as ‘a work of astonishing self-revelation [belonging] with the classic Confessions. Augustine and Rousseau were not more unsparing of themselves than Rab…’ The ‘large episodes’ of Rab's career, Powell went on, ‘are treated with a generous vision (including, it need not be added, a generosity to Rab) which leaves the reader with improved understanding and perspective’. Powell's comments were echoed by others on the Right, but the Left was more critical. Anthony Howard noted that ‘what tend…to get wholly left out are the mistakes and blunders’ – the now infamous Villacoublay meeting during the Suez crisis; and Rab's astonishing admission to the journalist George Gale during the 1964 campaign that the election was slipping Labour's way. Harold Wilson, who had offered Rab the mastership of Trinity, was perhaps the least charitable of all. He found The art of the possible disappointing because, he claimed, Rab underwrote the great occasions. Rab's reticence about Suez, however, upset Wilson less than the description of his tribulations at the hands of Labour MPs as government spokesman for the policy of non-intervention during the Spanish Civil War. Here was an issue which could excite the older soldiers of the British Left, and if Wilson was alone among Rab's reviewers in making more than passing reference to Rab's association with appeasement this was why.

‘Watersheds’ and ‘turning points’ are two standard literary devices for addressing the question of direction in history. Once that direction is determined, one is able to survey the roads not taken, sorting out the possible and the probable from the unavoidable. This paper forswears the vocabulary of turning points, but it owes something to the idea such language expresses. Put cryptically, our discussions of the origins of the Second World War could afford to pay closer attention to Franco-Italian relations in the 1930s. Next to the Manchurian, Rhenish, Spanish, Austrian, Czech and Polish crises of that decade, the crisis within the ephemeral alliance between Paris and Rome has been given short shrift. Even within the context of the Ethiopian crisis there is a tendency to measure the implications against Anglo-French, Anglo-Italian and Italo-German relations. The net effect is to downplay the importance of relations between France and Italy. And from that, to choose but one example, comes an exaggerated sense of the ease with which the French fell into line with British policy in the Mediterranean, and with which the Italians subsequently received German overtures respecting Austria and Central Europe.

For historians of the Edwardian Conservative party one problem in particular continues to present severe difficulties. This problem in the history of the Conservative party was first outlined by Lord Blake in his study of the party from Peel to Churchill, namely how to explain the feet that Conservative politics came to be so dominated by the issue of Tariff Reform in the decade preceding the Great War. Indeed, to Lord Blake it seemed scarcely credible that the Conservatives should have even considered, let alone shackled themselves to, a policy which was apparently so disastrous both for the party's unity and its electoral prospects. Such incredulity is, in many ways, hardly surprising for, as all the studies of Tariff Reform have agreed, there were enormous difficulties involved in the adoption of this policy – and two problems in particular were clearly almost insurmountable. Firstly, the core of the Tariff Reform policy, that is to say the securing of the imperial markets for British producers through a system of preferential tariff agreements with the colonies, was severely handicapped by the fact that the self-governing colonies, the only worthwhile markets, were very lukewarm about the whole idea. This difficulty stemmed from the fact that the colonies had begun to develop their own fledgling industries and were thus none too keen to have them swamped by a flood of imported British manufactures. Secondly, the only agreement in which the colonies were interested entailed the Conservatives advocating duties on imported foreign grain and agricultural goods. This, of course, led to the Conservatives being labelled the party of ‘dear food’ and there seems little room for doubt that these ‘food taxes’ did the Conservatives a great deal of electoral damage, especially amongst the working-class electorate.

There are several points in post-war history at which, it is argued, Britain lost an early opportunity to enter the European community. The refusals to join the Schuman Plan and Messina deliberations in the 1950s, and the failure of the E.E.C. applications of Macmillan and Wilson, are most commonly mentioned. But some commentators have pointed to another ‘missed opportunity’, following Winston Churchill's return to Downing Street in October 1951. For, in opposition, Churchill had seemed a great exponent of European unity, and several of his ministers – foremost among them the home secretary, Maxwell Fyfe, and housing minister, Harold Macmillan – had shown great enthusiasm for his ideas. Hopes that Churchill's government would favour a more positive approach to European unification were quickly disappointed, however: within weeks the foreign secretary, Anthony Eden, had ruled out any direct British role in Europe's emerging ‘supranational’ institutions, and in 1952 he defeated some determined efforts by Macmillan to change his policy. The ‘pro-Europeans’ did not forget this ‘betrayal’, however. They argued that a real opportunity to take the leadership of Europe had been lost and in the ensuing years, as Britain's failure to join the European community became more generally criticized, their thesis seemed credible. An examination of the evidence, however, allows a very different picture of this ‘missed opportunity’ to be painted.

The outbreak of the First World War in Europe and the subsequent Ottoman–German alliance presented Great Britain with some severe dilemmas as to her interests in the Middle East as well. Striving to consolidate their position in the Middle East should a war against the Ottomans become inevitable, the British began to search for local allies. In the Arabian Peninsula, three rulers emerged as potential allies: the Sharif Husayn, the guardian of the Holy Places in the Hijāz on behalf of the Ottoman sultan; the Idrisi Sayyid of 'Asīr, the area south of the Hijāz and north of Yemen; and 'Abd al-'Azīz Ibn Saud, the Amir of Najd, who became a Persian Gulf coastal ruler in May to 1913 by virtue of his occupation of Hasa the coastal strip stretching from Kuwayt to the base of the Qatar peninsula.